Dance With Me, Ma Cherie
by troubadour12
Summary: Set in 18th century England, this is a wistful tale of a drama that begins with a ball. That is when they all meet and a new thread of fate winds through the pages, weaving the past, present and future into one. But who will have the last dance?
1. Chapter 1

It was a beautiful night.

Flames of light from torches hung at measured intervals cast dancing shadows on the stone wall, inescapable and impenetrable. It lent an aura of mystery to the wondrous castle; weathered, old, and a little vulnerable to the eye, yet still as proud as a dignified stallion. Tapestries of note decorated the otherwise bare walls, along with rich, vivid paintings. And, scattered here and there were armored knights, clutching a mace and a shield, or perhaps a sword.

Amy gasped in wonder at her surroundings. The butler, holding a candelabra aloft---which she imagined weighed more than your average tome---led the way to the ballroom, and she could not help exclaiming at the works of art that adorned the hallways. Dan, in his midnight-black suit was poker-faced as he walked alongside her as her escort. He may have been younger than she, but he qualified. Behind them, chatting quietly, were their parents, Hope and Arthur Trent, Duchess and Duke of Stonehurst.

They were headed, in all absurdity of the world, to a _ball_.

But at least, Amy reflected, she got to see the beauty of the mystical castle. It was her Grandmére Grace's mansion, where she gathered Cahills for a little celebration as society demanded, and as the nature of traditions allowed. London of the 18th century was a stickler in the upholding of these little rituals; and the _ton_ used this chance---if they were invited---to meet personas of note, and perhaps, if they were lucky, catch the attention of nobles present. But Grace rarely invited people not of their blood; that was why this particular party, when held every year, became the talk of the city, and those who could attend envied thusly, as a rule.

In previous celebrations, Amy and Dan had been absent; this was due to Amy's insistence that they were "too young." But now, this summer when she had turned 18 and presented in her first season, she could no longer hide. Men of different titles, wealth, and prominence paraded in front of her; and she had received more than twenty requests for her hand in a day alone. She had successfully deflected most of these, but still, her suitors were persistent. She heaved a heavy sigh at the prospect of having to choose one of them someday.

The butler opened a pair of intricate oak doors, and they stopped at the head of the stairs, marble and gilded with gold, polished until it gleamed like the sun. They were introduced in a loud, booming voice. Then, Amy swept down the staircase, her skirts trailing lightly, as did her mother's. They clutched their escorts' arms---and Dan allowed himself a chuckle at the look on his sister's face, grimacing as she tried not to trip. Heels were really very hard to walk in. She preferred the silk slippers her mother wore, herself, but she had not dared object while her clothing was being prepared. It would have incurred her Mother's heavenly wrath, and she might not have come out alive.

They reached the foot of the stairs, and headed where, sitting on a thronelike chair, the family's grande dame---namely, Grace---watched them with hawk-like eyes.

Amy curtsied the moment she faced her, and her grandmother's expression softened as she beheld her granddaughter. All around them, music swirled, filling Amy's head with a kind of headiness one might get from drinking wine or basking in the aroma of a thousand flowers.

"Ah, Amy," her grandmother stated warmly, beckoning for her to straighten, after they had all exchanged the customary pleasantries. "I have heard so much about you since we last met. You seem to be the unprecedented success of the season! Ah, but no matter how many may clamor for your heart, give it only to the man who deserves it most."

Amy smiled. Her grandmother always had such sage advice. She understood her best, and that was why they were very close. "That I shall heed, Grandmére. It is good advice, and a testament to your wisdom. Thank you."

Grace turned to Dan. "And my dear Dan," she addressed him. "I shall expect you tomorrow for a little code-breaking exercise."

Dan was pleased at the thought. He grinned widely. "I will."

"Then I shall expect you promptly thirty minutes past the hour of noon," she informed him. "You have grown to be quite handsome. Arrange your features, then, for it is uncouth to be overenthusiastic in public. See how the young ladies, even now, reproach you with such kind of fierce glares."

Dan reverted to his blank face. "Be it as you wish."

They turned to a table covered with linen, taking their seats, and watching the crowd mill about, as well as the couples dancing in the middle of the room. After a while, Hope and Arthur left to participate in an energetic waltz; and Dan tagged along in search of a friend and some food. Alone, Amy walked outside to the balcony, lit by the glow of a solitary chandelier, but beyond that was only the rest of the estate shrouded in darkness, and the city lights. She leaned against the railing.

There was a very light footstep, and a man approached her. He had seen her come out and, in need of some company, had decided to talk to her. She was part of his family, that he was sure of; therefore he should communicate with her, whether she be a Lucian, an Ekat, a Tomas, or a Janus. In this event tonight, all were equal.

From the corner of her eye, Amy spotted him, and warily turned to face him.

His hair was as black as the night that lay before them. His eyes were the color of liquid amber, hypnotic and all-seeing. When he smiled, white teeth flashed against coffee-colored skin. Clad in a suit of exceptional workmanship and served to identify him as being incredibly wealthy, he stood before her, for all the world like a living Greek god.

He was handsome, absurdly so. Of that there was no doubt.

"Comment vous-appelez vous, s'il vous plait?" he asked.

He spoke French! Amy understood the language to some extent, but did not trust her knowledge enough to reply with it. Hoping he would understand her, she replied, "My name is Lady Amy Cahill, daughter of the Duke of Stonehurst."

He did. Teeth flashing again in a breathtaking smile, he answered: "And I am Ian Kabra, son of the Duke of Canterbury. I am sorry for mistaking you for a Frenchwoman; your features seemed to convey that, and I erred in my judgment. Perhaps I should have used English first, no?" His voice was like honey, like velvet; it had a mellifluous quality to it. He waited for her responding chuckle before continuing. "I thought that the Duke of Stonehurst is, by all rights, a Trent? Forgive me if I am mistaken."

It was easy to converse with him, Amy thought. She nodded at him. "You are not. It is Trent, which he officially uses. But here in this hall, we are all Cahills, are we not? However, for reasons unknown, I have all my life lived with Cahill as my last name; so does my brother and my mother. Only father does not adopt it, though that is what is sometimes stated in his documents. We are formally known as Trents to our peers; but outside of that scope, we are pure-blooded Cahills."

Ian considered this for a moment. "I see," he finally said. "Yet it is all so confusing somehow."

"It is," Amy agreed. "Sometimes, I do not know what I should refer to myself."

"Well, then," he began to speak, but someone interrupted him.

"Ian!" A voice behind him said. Craning her neck, Amy saw a very beautiful girl behind him, dressed in red silk, hair tumbling down her shoulders. She was of the same coloring as Ian, only more feminine, in both bearing and features. "Mother and Father calls for you."

Amy looked at him. "Is she your sister?" she asked.

"Yes," he told me. He looked sorrowful for a moment.

"What's wrong?" Was he in pain, or had some other malady?

"I must go." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. He gazed at her for a long second. "We'll see each other at dinner then?"

"Perhaps," Amy conceded. She looked behind him again. "Your sister is very beautiful," she added, as a compliment. That was the truth.

"She is. But you, even more so."

Amy blushed. Ian walked away, his sister glancing back at her briefly.

She stayed there, contemplating his enigmatic presence, pondering the mystery that Ian presented and had made itself known since they had first spoken.

"Strange," she murmured to herself. "I can almost believe that he could see right through me, to my very soul."

And as she spoke, the moon waned into view, a cloud drifting away to reveal it, leaving behind tendrils that did nothing to obscure its beauty.

*******

_**This was an idea someone suggested, and I merely had to improve on it. Amy and Ian are 18. Dan and Natalie are 15. Contrary to the real story, Dan and Amy's parents are not dead, and Grace is not, either. This is set in 18**__**th**__** century London. I have yet to decide of I shall include the Hunt; but there is a great likelihood that I will not.**_

_**I have not been able to mine any ideas for "A Rose's Thorns" of late. That is why, sorry as I am to tell you this, I will cease to prolong it. However, if it should assure you, I will not delete it from the archives; I may return and finish it someday, and also so that others may have a chance to read what I have published thus far.**_

_**This story shall replace A Rose's Thorns. It is not a sequel to Bleeding Hearts, however. I realize now that I should have left Bleeding Hearts as it is; it is very hard to continue a story that I had already seen the ending of, and then decide to prolong it. It was my mistake to make.**_

_**I shall propose a contest for the best 39 Clues fanfic, one I will not participate in. The rules:**_

_**The genre may be Adventure, Drama, Romance, Horror, Comedy, or the options that FFnet presents---as long as you convey the theme that I shall present.**_

_**Any pairing is welcome. Though I do hope you do not pair up a guy with a guy.**_

_**In the description of your entry, please include: ENTRY #___ ,CATEGORY__ FOR "THE BEST 39 CLUES FANFIC" CONTEST.**_

_**Oneshots only, please. **_

_**Decisions are based on a poll that will be set up in my profile; and my rating of your work based on a criteria of: Content-50%, Mechanics-25%, Relevance To Theme-10%, and Creativity-15.**_

_**The theme is: "Deceptions, Trials, and Emotions" for Category A; and "Power, Victory, and Consequences" for Category B.**_

_**Winners for the two categories are separate.**_

_**If you agree, I shall pursue the idea, and start the uploading of entries by September 9; the sending of entries will end on September 20, Sunday. Poll will be constructed on the 21**__**st**__** . Winners will be announced in my profile page, and in an Author's note if I do not upload a chapter in my story by then, and if at least a week has passed. PM me if you wish to join; I will assign you an entry number. Also, what category you choose to participate in. You can do both if you so wish.**_

_**Feel free to suggest prizes; only, make sure it is possible for me to give to you---like a songfic or banner, or something. I will also post the winners on my website: .com. **_

_**The awards are: Champion, 1st runner-up, 2**__**nd**__** runner-up, 3**__**rd**__** runner-up, and five Honorable Mentions for each category.**_

_**-Troubadour 12**_


	2. Chapter 2

"Who was she?" Natalie asked as they crossed the dance floor, where the couples whirled to the lilting melody of Bach's Minuet. Ladies swooned, or their faces paled; men tried to catch Natalie's eye; they stood aside for them to pass, almost like the floor they stepped on was sacred ground, or a carpet was being laid out for them. Their beauty dominated the whole room, great in magnitude and unsurpassed.

"Hmm?" Ian, lost in thought, had not been really listening to a word his sister was saying. His thoughts were drawn to a different path altogether, of a girl with flaming red hair and brilliant, jade-green eyes…dressed in a white silk dress, shot through by silver and gold threads, and excellent embroidery…All in all, a truly magnificent face. He could see now why she was considered the success of the season.

"The girl you were talking with not more than a minute ago. Who was she?" Natalie clarified, pausing on the fringe of the crowd. The people tried to hide their interest, but failed. Their ears were pricked, their eyes flicking to and fro restlessly.

"Lady Amy Cahill, the Duke of Stonehurst's daughter," Ian answered, not out of duty, but because he had wanted to hear her name roll off his tongue. It was, he reflected, a strange feeling to have. But he dismissed it from his mind. Noticing the stares directed at them, and that any good ear could easily pick up on their conversation and share it with those of rapier-sharp tongues, he tapped Natalie lightly on her shoulder, and they resumed walking.

"What did you talk about?" she queried, glancing about for eavesdroppers; this was nothing more than small talk, but something could slip out, or people of suspicious intent would overhear and conclude it as something else far off the mark.

"Pardon?" Ian raised an eyebrow. "I believe you are not in a position to ask after my actions, and to act as if you were a henpecked wife, who thinks that her husband's goings-about must be reported to her in every detail."

She frowned. "I am your sister. That gives me the right to question you. And besides, what else is there to talk about?"

He shook his head. "It is best we remain silent then, than to concentrate on such petty matters; I will not have an acquaintance of mine, who I do not yet entirely know, be talked of behind her back by someone who has yet to meet her face to face."

"You and your gentlemanly ways," she huffed, rolling her eyes.

He smiled slightly. "Do you wish for me to be a rogue?"

"Of course not! I merely wish to point out that you seem to be overly-polite and evasive, unwilling to even get near the line, the boundary. Why, if it were not for the fact that you have always been this way, I would think you are deliberately doing this as a ruse to keep something to yourself!"

"And if I were?" The corners of his mouth twitched. They begin their ascent up the stairs Amy had gone down but an hour and a half ago, Ian holding out his arm for his sister to take.

"Then I shall tell Mama and Papa," she informed him rather stoutly, which caused him to laugh, albeit subtly.

"Really," he taunted, "is that all you can do? Then you shall quickly crumble to pieces if you do not learn to think by yourself, and under your own power."

"Do not speak to me with riddles in that oily tongue of yours," she snapped, offended by his tone. They veered to the left, to another hallway that led to door after door after door; these were the parlors and lounges, where those who had a need of rest stayed.

"That was hardly a riddle. Is your mind not broad enough?"

"Ah, stop it, lest I give in to the tempest within me, and slap you with all I have to bear down. Stop it, and let us be quiet, for methinks that Mama and Papa would not be pleased to see us arguing about in hardly a courteous manner," Natalie curtly replied.

Ian wished to say that that had been his wish in the first place, but bit his tongue and counted to ten, slowly breathing in and out. It would not do for Natalie to lose control. For one thing, she had a lethal gun tucked in the folds of her dress; and for another, it would cause a commotion similar to when horses panicked and trampled anything in their way; or of agitated bees, whose hive had been disturbed. In other words, extremely dangerous.

Natalie opened the last door to the left, and they walked in, pausing to shut it behind them, before turning their attention to the couple that sat on armchairs facing a blazing fire. The fire crackles and spluttered, but it gave off a warmth that chased the cold out of their bones.

They bowed and curtsied respectfully to their parents.

"Come, rise, children," Duchess Isabel Kabra spoke. "'Tis unseemly for you to act that way in private, when we are alone, and no one has the nerve to spy on us. We are family. Do not treat us like strangers."

"Isabel, leave them be," Vikram chastised. "I think they are old enough to decide who they should respect, who they are intimate with, and who would be their enemy. Do not coddle them, nor treat them as if they do not know any better. They have minds, and fine ones at that." He beckoned for them to sit opposite them. The two obliged.

"We have much to discuss," he began. "But it will have to wait until dinner. It shall start five past the hour of eight, and even now, it is fifty-five past seven. We will need more time to talk about his thoroughly; but I strongly advise you now to prepare for a long night, for it may spark a debate that shall last until the wee hours of morn. Let us test what you have learned."

The siblings nodded in understanding.

"Aye, father," Ian agreed. "But what do we tell Grandmére? She would be worried. And the others would be…indefinitely curious."

"Tell anyone who asks that you are tired, for we had had an exhausting journey to reach this place. That is partly the truth, anyway. When I leave the table, both of you shall wait until half an hour has passed, before excusing ourselves and adjourning to our rooms."

"Very well, then." Ian rose. "We shall be on time."

Vikram nodded his approval. "But if anyone detains any of you, we'll still wait. Though it would cause an inconvenience on your part, for every minutes' delay is another minute without sleep."

Ian knew that all too well. It meant that they would be considerate, but there were consequences to pay. They left the room, each one tensing for the argument ahead.

They did not notice the shadow that crept from a recess beside the door they had just exited from. A twisted grin took over the shadow's features.

"Do not be so complacent," it said. "That will be your undoing."

And then, stealthily, it melted into the darkness without a trace.

******

_**Whew. This is fairly easier, and a tad bit more inspiring to do. One clarification though: A Rose's Thorns is on an indefinite HIATUS and not ABANDONED.**_

_**I hope to be able to update again soon.**_

_**I love you all! Thanks for reading!**_

_**Troubadour12, as always.**_


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner was a boisterous affair.

The chandeliers blazed with a bright glow, light glinting off the crystal and throwing into sharp focus anything it fell upon. Underneath them was a sumptuous banquet, on a long table covered with champagne and cream linen, various dishes arrayed all over it. Strategically positioned around it were circular tables that could seat four.

At one table was Amy. She was trying not to wrinkle her skirt, and at the same time, enduring a blister on her foot because of the high heels she wore. Given a choice, she would have unlaced them and thrown them to a far corner, preferably to the fireplace that blazed cheerfully near where Grandmére Grace sat, presiding over the family in her throne. But as it was, she was incapable of drawing attention to herself in such an embarrassing manner, not to mention that it would be an immense social gaffe were she to attempt it.

Grace stood, clapped her hands twice, and everyone settled down with a furtive look at one another, then back to the unspoken leader of the whole clan. The leader regarded them with an air of evaluation, making many squirm as they half-expected her to lower down some kind of harsh judgment. Bu to their surprise, she smiled, and instead beckoned to the liveried footmen and servants, who came forward and began to dole out the dishes. "Dinner is served," she declared, her voice booming.

Dan's eyes gleamed. "Finally," he murmured. "Something worthwhile."

His sister elbowed him. "Don't hog all the food," she cautioned him.

He merely smiled mischievously at her.

As the night wore on, the guests relaxed, conversing with others in a natural manner that they usually did not adopt when speaking to each other under normal circumstances. But although it seemed that all pretense had been dropped and defenses let down, the Cahills were shrewd people, and knew how dangerous a slip of the tongue could be. They revealed what could be said, and kept secret those that could not fall into the wrong hands.

Lilting music crept in the room by the third course of salmon, salad, and white wine. Some people chose to dance to the tunes played by the hired orchestra of musically-inclined Janus. Others continued on with their food, talking occasionally to their companions.

Amy picked at her salad. She was not particularly hungry and, despite the fact that Dan had eaten her salmon, could not finish the light tossed salad. She felt a little exhausted, and fatigued. Her mother examined her with no small measure of worry.

"Are you alright, my dear?" she asked gently, placing her hand over Amy's and raising the other to brush away a lock of reddish-brown hair that had fallen over her daughter's eyes.

Amy shook her head a bit timidly. "I must be tired. I had no idea that a ball would be so draining," she admitted.

"Do you want to go home now?"

She shook her head.

Across them, at the other side of the room, Ian Kabra was with his family. They had not entirely abandoned their guise, but they acted as courteous and as normal as can be that no-one figured out the difference. Ian's eyes flickered across the room covertly before turning to his father. "Is it so important to speak later in the evening?"

Vikram considered his son. "Why do you ask?"

"I feel as if someone has been monitoring us all night; and that it would be dangerous to attempt such a discussion in the midst of a goings-on as large as this. We are, after all, surrounded by rivals and enemies many times over, who would love to snatch the information which we possess."

Vikram nodded after a full minute had passed. "You are right," he agreed gravely. "It is risky to take on such a chance."

Natalie spoke up, then, swinging her long black hair over her shoulder, attracting the stares of many males in the vicinity. She flashed them a bright smile before turning to her father. "The meeting is to be cancelled then, yes?"

He smiled at her. "I believe so, my little darling."

Ian rose. "In that case," he said, "I am now allowed to spend the evening as I wish to?" He looked to his parents for approval.

"But of course!" Isabel's tone was miffed. "What do you plan on doing, Ian?"

Her son sighed. "Bed. I am not feeling well."

At the same moment, Amy was standing up from her table after her parents, and Grace, had urged her to go upstairs to the room usually reserved for her when they would visit. "You're looking peaky," Arthur told her with apparent concern written all over his face.

Grace took hold of her granddaughter's arm gently. "You need not excuse yourself from the guests," she assured her in a soft voice that seemed to take Amy's worries away. "I shall do that for you. I am, after all, the host, and responsible for my guests' farewell."

"Thank you, Grandmére," Amy told her fervently, feeling the ache of her head that was about to make her hurl what little she'd eaten of the sautéed shrimps, glazed roast beef, vegetable soup, and salad. She walked away unsteadily, tottering slightly on her wobbly feet as she crossed the spacious, mosaic-tiled ballroom. Spots seemed to appear, blocking her vision, making her uncertain on which way she should go.

By now, she had reached the staircase. With a mix of trepidation and fear, she gripped the banister tightly, blindly going up the flat marble steps, one at a time. But it was hard to navigate with a dizzy head, and high heels. And then, in the next second, it happened.

She tripped.

Instantly, she felt herself falling, and she closed her eyes, anticipating a bloody ending, the star-studded night a disaster, her corpse lying broken on the stained floor. Adrenaline rushed through her body, and her stomach twisted and cramped in protest. Sweat trickled down her back.

But instead of a cold, hard floor, a pair of strong, capable arms caught her mid-fall. There was a breathless second of momentum, where they rocked dangerously; but whoever caught her grabbed hold of the banister and righted their position. There was not a change in the babble of voices and merriment, not a break in the music---no-one had noticed the incident. Amy breathed a sigh of relief, then opened her eyes to take a good look at her rescuer.

Coffee-colored skin. Perfectly-done dark hair. Amber eyes. A good-looking face.

Amy flipped through her memories sluggishly, recognition coloring her thoughts as she looked up at her perpetual savior. A flash of white.

"Ian," she breathed, hardly believing it. She shook her head to clear it of the headache, then her eyes darted back to his face. "I---you saved my life. I am in your debt."

His eyebrows were furrowed, so unlike the smiling stranger earlier in the evening. "That is not the concern at the moment. More importantly, are you alright?" He looked into her eyes earnestly.

She frowned. "I-I think so. At least, it could have been worse. But, for the present that is, I am fine, notwithstanding the fact that I _am _a little ill."

His lips twitched. "Where are you headed?" he asked, taking her by the arm and leading her gallantly up the steps. "Let me take you to your rooms. You are not in a good state of affairs to go there on your own. I cannot forgive myself if you met some other accident or fainted in the hallway because I had left you alone despite knowing full well that you were sick."

Amy sighed. "I am perfectly fine, Monsieur," she replied a little snappily. "A bit of dizziness will not encumber a trip down the hallway."

Ian looked unconvinced. "_Non._ You are crazy if you believe that I shall let go of your hand until you have safely arrived at your destination."

Amy shot him an irritated look. "I am most certainly not a child; I know what I am doing, and, furthermore, I think I am of the age to decide for myself."

They were now in a seemingly endless hallway, the monotony of the walls broken by the occasional door.

Ian did not answer her. Instead, so fast that she almost missed it, he swept her up in his arms and resolutely began walking in a determined stride that told Amy she would not be released so easily.

She resigned with poor grace. "Turn at the next turning, second door to the left."

His pace quickened. It was not a few minutes later when Ian was soon opening the door to a magnificently furnished room with burnished mahogany-paneled walls, champagne- and cream-colored pieces, and in the middle of it all, a four-poster bed with maroon silk draperies, cream bedsheets, an eiderdown mattress, and pillows. Taking care not to jostle her, Ian set Amy down on the bed, and quickly removed her shoes with precise movements.

As he turned to leave, he heard her speak.

"Thank you…Ian…"

Those were the last words that left her mouth before she finally drifted off to sleep.

******

_**Whew! Sorry for the really late update, but it was exam week, and I really had no time to do anything more than research for some of my requirements.**_

_**I need ten reviews before I update; I hope that's enough to give me time to catch up on my other engagements.**_

_**By the way, for those who entered my contest, please state your title of contest entry in your review, because recently, this account has been so loaded with fanfics, that it's so hard to sift through them all. Thank you!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Grace looked over the congregation and felt a twinge of regret that after this night, peace would be shattered, and they would be back to their petty jealousies, wars, death threats, blackmail, and, if worst came to worst, murder. But it was near the eleventh hour; she had to urge them to be on their way. A contemplative look came over her wise eyes, and it seemed that she stood a little straighter, a little taller, assuming an air of authoritativeness that she employed only when it was needed.

She needed no enhancer for her voice, for everyone, as if sensing this very moment, had quieted down and gazed up at her with respectful eyes. The place was as silent as a tomb, save for the clink of dishes and wine glasses, and the steady breathing of everyone in the room.

The entire body of people was tame, and hardly moved, except for the occasional uneasy twitch and fidget. This was different from the squabbling relatives of late, who were the reason behind economical, political, and emotional upheavals in the community of this country and beyond. Amongst the crowd were world leaders, wealthy businessmen, Superclass people who pulled every string and controlled every puppet imaginable.

But today, now, this hour, this minute, this second, they were unexpectedly watchful and silent.

It was surreal, and Grace knew this could not have happened any other night.

A moment of hesitation. It quickly passed, leaving her a bit more resolved.

And then she began the speech that had no need of being recorded, the speech that came straight from the heart, the speech that was full of suppressed emotion.

"Tonight we came as equals."

Her powerful, resonating voice was a contradiction to her lined face, which was flawless in all other aspects; her faded eyes, which were as penetrating as ever, with the same twinkle, the same gleam, the same spark of intuition and wisdom; her frail-looking body, which had piloted planes through buffeting storms and traversed several different countries in the seven continents.

"Tonight we were as one."

Everyone's ears were pricked, and many leaned forward, not because they could not hear her---far from it, in fact---but because they all felt the pull of charisma and something else that was undefinable.

"Tonight, those at odds with each other patched up their grievances, and enemies became friends, comrades in a sense. In this event, we were at peace with each other, became the family we were truly meant to be, by the blood that runs in our veins, and by the lineage of our ancient ancestors. In my heart there is a hope that the next events will be as tranquil in the future, and as sublime as it was in the past."

She gazed steadily at her audience, and they gazed back, though not as surely, not as steadily as she did.

A sigh escaped her lips. "If only it could last."

They waited for her next words, breathlessly, calculating.

"Just as everything has a beginning, everything has also an end. There will come a time when the lights become but twilit specks in the darkening horizon, and a brightly burning candle flame flickers and dies. It is a time of a drawn-out farewell. It is a time regretted and missed. Like the momentary tinkle of a waterfall and birds bursting out in wonderful song, it is a beautiful celebration that, when gone, leaves one empty.

"I, for one, was happy in the peaceful gathering of today. For a short time, there were no battles, and no fights. For a time, we became but frisky dogs basking in the sunshine and drinking of the pure water of crystal springs. A wistful metaphor, I believe, but, compared to how we usually are, I must say this is a considerable improvement, and I may exaggerate in saying such."

She smiled wryly. The Tomas were scratching heads and looked utterly confused, which was comical on their meaty, muscled bodies; the Janus seemed to drift in a sea of artistic meditation; the Lucians stroked their hidden weapons buried in the folds of their evening wear; and the Ekats nodded sagely, one or two of them bravely leaping to their feet and clapping with unbridled enthusiasm.

As the applause died away, Grace took a deep breath. "I now declare this party, this gathering, ended! Those who are in need of lodging may stay; and those who have pressing engagements back home may now go. I have enjoyed immensely your company, and I await the day when we can once again meet. A good eventide to all of you!"

There was a great scraping of chairs and shuffling of feet. They approached Grace, either to bid her goodnight or good morrow, or else to request for a room in the castle for they were to set out the next morn and were in no fit state to leave in the clutches of fast-coming night. And then, doffing their hats and with much curtseying, they ascended the stairs, veered straight through the huge oak doors, and disappeared into the hallway. There was a clatter of horses' hooves against the walkway, and a great squeaking from the gates.

Like a star, the glimmer slowly blinked away. The night was now but a distant memory, a forgotten dream.

Good things did not always last.

******

_**I devoted this chapter to Grace because I feel I needed to show her as a dignified woman that everyone looked up to, who is quite capable of moving mountains, and sympathized with the fact that the Cahills would rather quarrel than work hand in hand towards a common goal.**_

_**I guess you have to thank Computer Science for this prompt update, because I used one of our two periods today to write this down.**_

_**And now, in fulfillment of my promise to xxxkgcxxx, I'd like to ask you to write in your reviews your nominations for the 39 Clues Fanfiction Awards. For further info, please check out the Author's Note in Chapter 4 of xxxkgcxxx's fanfic, "A Perfectly Good Heart."**_

_**Here are the categories:**_

_**Best Use of New Characters**_

_**Best Tearjerker**_

_**Most Original Plot**_

_**Best Use of Grammar**_

_**Most Adventurous**_

_**Best Use of Music**_

_**Best Collaboration**_

_**Most Comedic**_

_**Most Likely To Sell Out In A Bookstore**_

_**Most Evil Villain**_

_**Best Newbie Fic**_

_**Best One-Shot**_

_**Best Old-School Fic**_

_**Ian I'd Like as a Boyfriend**_

_**Dan I'd like as a Boyfriend**_

_**Best Ian and Amy fic**_

_**Best Dan and Natalie fic**_

_**Best Romance**_

_**Best Author**_

_**********_

_**Also, watch out for a new fanfic I'll start on if I have the time to work on it---it is solely Dan and Natalie, and I guess will probably be patterned after some…events in my life. From Natalie's perspective, and Natalie will probably be OOC. Haha. I guess everyone might be a little OOC. **_

_**And I am now lifting the hiatus from A Rose's Thorns and Queen Of The World Diaries. Now that I have Book 5, I'm suddenly inspired to keep 'em going. Watch out for updates in the near future. It's Semestral Break next week, so you can expect me to follow up on all the abovementioned projects.**_

_**Love ya all! **_

_**Ten reviews till next!**_


	5. Chapter 5

Morning dawned on them with a vengeance. The rising of the sun bathed Grace's stately stone castle in a rosy pink, with streaks of gold, orange, and yellow against the clear blue sky, misty-white clouds scudding across it. The air was but a gentle breeze that made the trees sway, dancing as if to faraway music. Dew beaded the blades of grass, glistening and sparkling in the light.

Dan tapped his horse lightly, coaxing him to a trot. He felt the wind on his face, and the exhilaration of being here. He wanted to try out the racecourse and all its hurdles, but he decided against it. He had just recovered from a bad fall, and wasn't amenable to being laid up in bed for weeks on end without anything to do.

Ahead of him, Amy was astride her horse Snow White, whose skin was a pure, untainted white---save for the diamond-shaped sliver of black on her nose. His sister was an expert equestrienne, the only sport she had ever excelled at. The rest of the time, she was clumsy and uncoordinated, more likely to end up with nicks and scratches, and fall flat on her face.

She turned to him, her reddish-brown hair like fire against her chartreuse riding outfit, contrasting with the vibrant jade-green of her eyes. "Why don't we go to the old treehouse?" she called to him, commanding her horse to come to a stop. Snow White tossed her mane and obeyed with a whinny.

The treehouse was their old fort from ages past. It had been built when Dan was six and Amy nine. The way to it was a bumpy, rutted route winding through the forest at the very back of Grace's property, which they'd named the 'wood trail'. There were puddles from yesterday night's rain, and the ground was sure to be muddy. Dan wanted to splash in them like a little kid, and to go ahead, but he restrained himself in the name of proper decorum.

"Lead the way." He gestured to the path that seemed part of the geography of the place.

Amy rolled her eyes at him. "Go ahead. I know you secretly wish to. I am not begrudging you that." Once again, she was the big sister, with only her baby brother's best interests at heart. Not that Amy would ever admit it.

Dan looked at her. "Is it…alright with you?" he asked, hands itching to tap Xavier with his riding crop and tell him to gallop---gallop like the wind---through the wood trail.

Amy laughed. "Of course it is!"

And then they were on their way.

Leaves in autumnal shades fell down on the wood trail, coating the ground like some kind of outer skin or membrane, and floating a little before sinking to a rest. There was a crash among the trees. Both heads whipped toward the sound but, finding nothing, continued on their way. It was, they reasoned, probably a buffalo or gazelle or some other animal.

The day was swelteringly hot, and the sun was high up in the sky when they finally reached the treehouse. Along it was a river snaking past, and they dismounted from the horses, leaving them to drink the water while they took off their riding boots and climbed, barefooted, to the top.

The inside of the treehouse was dusty, and Dan coughed. Motes swirled in the air where sunlight struck, and out on the balcony, they had a good view of the tops of some trees for miles, as well as the castle tower. They stayed there for a while, drinking in the silent panorama of the beautiful landscape, before descending by the simple means of swinging down the branches. They drank some water, put on their riding boots, clambered onto their horses, and rode back to the castle.

A hearty breakfast awaited them. After consuming the meal with some of their relatives who had stayed behind, Amy and Dan went up to their rooms to bathe. The water was cold, as what was common in those times, and Amy fetched a bucket, held it over the fire in the grate which kept out the morning chill, and waited for it to warm before passing it to Dan. Until a maid came running, horrorstruck at the sight of the mistress' granddaughter performing such drudgery. She took charge of the bucket and prepared the hot water more efficiently, handed Dan off to a male butler, then helped Amy get dressed in pale yellow dress trimmed with white lace and ribbons, fastened with pearl buttons at the back. Amy rolled her eyes but obeyed when she was told to put on the matching yellow silken slippers, and fastened a bonnet around her head. Then she came down to the front steps, where her mother and father waited with Dan, Grace at their side to bid them farewell as a carriage pulled up.

Her grandmother pulled her close, hugging her with firm but thin arms. "It may be a while before we see each other again, my darling Amy, but I will wait for it. Please, never let go of your dreams. Never lose that spark within you. Keep on reaching for the star, but keep on remembering who you are. I love you, but you already know that. But you do not know that I would give _anything _for you and your brother."

Tears sprang to Amy's eyes as she stepped away. Dan was soon enveloped in another fierce hug, and Grace whispered something in his ear. He nodded and extricated himself from her embrace.

Hope and Arthur both talked quietly to Grace for a while, but they could not delay. And so, with some regret, they went down the steps, climbed into the carriage, and waved to Grace before the horses began clattering down the pebbled walkway, away from the castle, away from Grace, away from that magical night that now seemed so long ago…

And, Amy realized with a pang, away from that boy who had been gracious enough to help her when she'd needed it.


	6. Chapter 6

Amy did not take kindly to being roused early in the morning. That was why she maintained a grouchy demeanor the whole time she was forced to put on the beige dress and shoes, pushed down on a chair for an elaborate braiding session, and finally escorted through the cold hallways to her parents' study. The maids were drowsily making their way past them, bowing and scraping as Amy and the butler, Dante, passed.

"Do you, by any chance, know why they are summoning me this early, Dante?" she probed, trying to keep irritation out of her tone. However, she did not succeed, if the raised eyebrows of the old man, who was dear to her, were any indication.

"M'lady, if I were you, I would not think too deeply into how much of a bother it is. Rather, I would be alarmed at the significance of such a summoning, since I believe you would not be hastily called upon were it not so important," the butler told her, in a calm voice which only served to make her feel guilty.

"So are you saying I have no right to feel annoyed?" she asked a bit grumpily, in a fashion that even she would be embarrassed at, were she fully aware of the words that came out from her mouth. But, as it was, she was only half-awake, and being polite was the furthest thing from her mind.

Dante shook his head in a patronizing manner that nearly set her teeth on edge, and was only saved by his next words. "No, mistress. What I am saying is, I would have probably felt a different way."

The graveness of his words finally got through to her, and she felt a touch of anxiety. But she pointed out that nothing _that_ alarming could possibly happen. After all, what c_ould _occur in the few days---three, actually---that they'd spent over at her grandmother's?

There was no use ruminating over it. She would just have to wait until she found out, when her parents would tell her the moment she would reach their study.

They stopped in front of the doors leading to it, and Dante swung them open. She entered, and he closed them behind her.

Behind the desk was her father, face turned to the window and the land that lay beyond it. Her mother, meanwhile, sat on an armchair a few feet away from the desk, in front of a blazing fire. But despite the cheery glow, there was an ominous atmosphere that told Amy something was amiss. She quietly stood there, not exactly sure where to sit, waiting for her parents to notice her silent arrival.

It did not take them long. Hope looked up, saw her daughter's uncertainty and anxiety written all over her face, and smiled to reassure her. Then she walked over to stand by her husband, who now turned away from the window. Amy walked with light steps to the armchair in front of the desk.

Arthur waited until she had settled on the chair before passing her an envelope. The wax seal was broken, showing that it had been perused by her parents. With a questioning glance shot at them, she opened the envelope, took out a letter written on cream-colored paper, and unfolded it. She began to read it aloud.

"_To the Duke of Stonehurst:_

_My kindest regards to you and your family. I trust you are in excellent health? I am come to write you this letter on a certain matter which, I trust, you have been expecting. When I say that it concerns your fair daughter, I am sure you have a suspicion as to the content of this letter._

_Well, my dear sir, we all know that Miss Cahill is the success of the season. And we all know how many have lined up, besotted by her beauty and asking for her hand. I now ask to be considered among the ranks of her suitors, for I am as equally taken._

_I would like to meet her three days from now and talk to her in private. I am sure that I am the best candidate among all the rest._

_Fare thee well._

_(signed) Jonah Wizard"_

Amy looked up from the parchment, which smelled of a sickly sweet perfume, and suddenly felt as if she couldn't breathe. There was a rapid tightening in her chest, and it seemed that there was nothing else that went through her mind but, "A proposal. A proposal. I am so, so dead."

"It is all up to you, Amy." Her father took one of her hands and held it. "You will decide. This is the first official suitor. Those before were merely expressions of their want, but as of now not yet confirmed. If you wish to meet this…Wizard," there was a pause at how absurd it sounded, but he continued on, "then I shall allow it. But bear in mind that no one will force you to marry _anyone_, and that as long as you are against it, I will block any such attempts."

Amy's voice was faint, and there was a complicated knot in her stomach that wouldn't untie itself. She was feeling a bit dizzy. "Y-yes. Thank you, Dad. But….but I think I should meet him. This Jonah person. T'would not hurt to at least get to know him, is that correct?"

Her father nodded. "Then I shall reply to his letter and that we may expect him three days from now, as he so succinctly puts it."

Her mother placed her own hand over Arthur's and Amy's. "Just remember, sweetheart, to always be honest. Do not force yourself to like a person. You are a generally tolerant girl, which is a virtue at times, but it is something you have to push it aside in the face of all this. There will be more requests to come, and unless you are sure of who you really want, please do try not to mislead them by acting pleasant when you actually dislike them. It is, after all, your choice."

Amy swallowed hard, past the lump that was forming in her throat. "Yes, Mom."

And the next days were sure to be a whirlwind of activity.


	7. Chapter 7

There was a general air of expectation in the manor of the Duke of Stonehurst. This was evident in the way the maids anxiously cleaned every surface, how the cooks set about the preparation of food.

Hope and Arthur expected things to go smoothly.

Dan expected to eat most of the food.

Amy expected to faint dead clean away at any given moment.

And the servants merely expected a suitor to come sweeping their mistress of her feet, which were now encased in a pair of silver shoes that accented her blue gown.

That was why, when they heard the clatter of horse's hooves on the pebbled walkway, everyone waited for it breathlessly. The maids lined themselves up behind the front doors, and footmen were dispatched to wait outside and guide their esteemed visitor, Jonah Wizard, who was more known by his title, Lord Isley. The butler, Dante, stood ahead of the maids, ready to conduct Lord Isley to the parlor where Amy sat by her lonesome. Dan and her parents, meanwhile, were there to greet him at the living room.

The parlor was set off from the dining room, and was sheltered from the outside elements by cream walls and glass-paned windows. Royal blue draperies were tied to the side by golden cords, effectively allowing in the sunlight. On the round table was an assortment of delicacies and a dainty china tea set. Sitting on an armchair, clutching tightly to herself a silken square pillow, woven with a picture of blooming flowers, was Amy. Her hair was flowing loosely, except for a blue ribbon at the side, and around her neck was a golden heart. She was pale-faced, and felt as if her stomach had come alive with fluttering butterflies.

Meanwhile, Jonah was alighting from his carriage, surveying the manor with disguised interest. He was flanked by his father, and together, with the liveried footmen, they ascended the steps and were ushered inside.

The maids curtsied as he passed, even as Dante walked behind them, closing the doors, and leading them to where Hope, Arthur, and Dan sat.

Dan decided right off the bat that he hated Jonah. There was something about the look in his eyes, and the way he held himself that struck the wrong chord. Hope and Arthur were more gracious, greeting them and expressing their sympathy for the long journey that their guests must have taken. And then Dante was accompanying Jonah to the parlor, bowing deeply as Jonah entered.

He scanned the room for the girl he was supposed to meet, eyes drinking in the furnishings, until it alighted on her figure, which was slowly standing up. There was an air of hesitation about her, but Jonah was far beyond noticing such details. He approached her with a smile, doffing his hat and taking her hand in his. He bent and kissed it, not noticing how Amy winced and struggled to resist snatching it away. He was, she was sure, just being courteous.

"Ah, Lady Cahill. You are as beautiful as they say. In fact, far beautiful than anything I have seen so far, with your hair like---"

"Would you like to take a seat first, my Lord?" Amy cut in, not wishing to have to listen to the endless stream of flattery that was coming from him.

Jonah recovered himself quickly. "Yes, of course."

They sat on opposite armchairs, Amy carefully maneuvering herself away from him. She sensed that this disappointed him, and she could sense that he was a bit of a playboy who treated girls as ornaments. She also could sense that he liked to flatter ladies of noble birth and made it his pastime to charm them. He didn't try to get to know them better, she reflected, but did it for the boost it would give his ego. Her irritation at this display of conceitedness, which she supposed was already apparent in his letter to her parents, was enough to quell her nervousness, and instead set her to thinking as to the best recourse to make it known to him that she wasn't interested. At all. Not even the slightest bit.

But as they made desultory conversation, she couldn't find a way out. He seemed hell-bent on her accepting his proposal, and she was just as subtly saying no. Finally, when she couldn't take it any longer, she escaped to the bathroom, and tried to think as she stared at her reflection. Finally, she went out, and came face-to-face with dear old Dante who had noted her distress. He was one of her friends among the servants, and he had also taken care of her when she was young. He slipped her a tiny vial with a whisper: "Pour it in his tea and he'll fall asleep immediately."

Amy nodded in understanding. She returned to the parlor, gritting her teeth as Jonah exclaimed at her absence, asking if she was alright and if she needed anything. She tried to smile, act pleasant, as she poured him some tea, uncorked the vial, and when he wasn't looking, put in what she now realized was potent sleep syrup.

"Why don't we drink some tea, my Lord," she suggested with what she hoped was a cheery expression. "You must be famished."

"Indeed I am," Jonah replied, unsuspecting as he picked up the dainty cup. He drank from it, while Amy watched in anticipation, and then suddenly, his nerveless fingers lost their grip on the cup, spilling tea on his suit, and his head slumped on the velvet backrest.

For the second time that day, Amy escaped from the parlor.

She grabbed her bonnet and purse hurriedly, taking care to use the back way through the kitchens so as not to be seen by her parents. Dante winked at her as she dashed past, and she mouthed a "Thank you."

She quickly got the stable hand to ready a carriage for her, and climbed in with curt directions to the chauffeur to a millinery shop in the city. She needed to lose herself amongst a sea of frivolity and color that was the only way to go after what had happened. But she felt a little thrilled at outsmarting her suitor, and also from her getaway.

The carriage stopped outside the shop and Amy alighted with care. She had just placed her hand on the door, about to push it open when there was a tap on her shoulder.

Amy whirled around.

A young man smiled at her, dressed in a double-breasted gray tux, and whose features caused passing females to giggle or try to catch his eyes, which were trained on Amy, as if pinning her in place. "So we meet again, my fair maiden."

Amy composed herself. "It seems fate does not want us to be apart for far too long," she managed to return despite her accelerating heartbeat. "But I do find it curious to see a young man outside a ladies' shop. Do not tell me, my lord, that you have a certain inclination, to…well…The ladies so desperate to catch your attention would be disappointed."

He chuckled and offered her his arm. "Let them be. I only wish for your attention. And no, I am simply accompanying my sister. It would seem that she is to hold another of her lavish garden parties, and of course needs to supplement her wardrobe."

Amy's eyes twinkled and accepted the proffered arm. "She sounds like an interesting person. It would be a pleasure to meet her one of these days."

"Ah, yes, "interesting" is the best way to politely describe my sister," Ian joked. "But enough of that. Why don't we take a walk in the park?"

Amy nodded in assent and walked with him to the park at the heart of the city, with birds twittering, lovers reminiscing, and trees swaying.

Somewhere deep within, her heart was dancing to a frenzied beat.

_******_

_**I forgot to mention this, so I'm putting it in.**_

_**For the 39 Clues Fanfiction Awards, all you have to do is go to xxxkgcxxx's forum to nominate. Okay? **_

_**And I'm sorry for the late updates. I'm really trying to catch up, I swear!**_


	8. Chapter 8

The park was filled with other people out for a leisurely stroll. Ian steered Amy through them all to a relatively private path. Except for a few couples, it wasn't bustling with rowdy groups out for a picnic at the main section of the park.

"You do realize, sir, that you just dragged me out of a millinery shop before I could take the chance to look around?" Amy said lightly to her companion.

Ian shrugged it off like it did not matter. "I did not drag you out. You hadn't even crossed the threshold of Madam Beauregarde's charming little enterprise. And you weren't there to buy something. You were escaping from other things."

Amy froze, surprised. Ian looked back at her---not curiously, but as if he'd been expecting her to stop dead in her tracks. "How did you know?" she asked, eyes wide.

"I believe I am capable of recognizing someone who is fleeing," he told her calmly. "I've been in shops for years, and know the general aura of a serious buyer."

"That must be a lot of shops," Amy commented teasingly. They resumed walking, but her thoughts still spun a little.

"So what were you running from?" he asked conversationally, like this was just good, clean fun. Amy tried to remind herself that it was.

"A suitor," she mumbled, cheeks flaming red at the thought of her naughty little deed. She ducked her head. "I…um…I slipped some sleep syrup to his tea because I couldn't stand the sight of him."

She could feel his eyes boring into her head. "You're adorable when you blush. And that stutter of yours is endearing."

She looked up at him, sure that he was baiting her. He gazed back with warm, unreadable amber eyes.

"So this suitor…what was his name?" Ian continued, breaking the spell by looking ahead. They had stopped under an apple tree that was spreading with sturdy, long branches, as if it could reach the sky.

"Sir Jonah Wizard. He is most known for his title as Lord Isley," Amy replied, finding it better to just stare at the ground and the plants beginning to poke out of the soil. Her arm wrapped in his sent an electric current through her body, leaving it with a tingling feeling.

He surprised her by a bark of laughter. Passing couples looked their way before reverting their attention to their lovers. "He's not just Lord Isley. He has also been called King of Hearts behind his back. And Lord Lady-snatcher. He didn't play you up with loads of mad drivel and flattery, did he?" he chortled.

"Yes, he did. That was why I plotted to do away with him. And luckily my bu---I mean, someone gave me a vial of sleep syrup to do just that. He is happily snoring away as we speak, in the midst of dream-induced women," Amy smiled, seeing the humor in the whole thing.

Ian smiled, that smile that always seemed to take her breath away just by a glimpse. It lit up the immediate area. "Let me guess---he said you were the most beautiful girl in the world?"

_How did he know? _"Yes, exactly, my lord," she confirmed.

Ian sobered. "He courted a cousin of mine a few years back, so I am well aware of his style. He is a snake in the guise of a heavenly being. His mouth is full of lies that sound like truths. But I cannot deny that he was honest. You _are_ the most beautiful girl in the world.

Amy's heart quickened a little at the affectionate praise. "And I believe you are something of a flatterer yourself, my lord. Except you are much more believable."

He reached for her cheek with his free hand. Amy did not stop him. She was hypnotized by the look in his eyes, that look that drew you in. "It isn't flattery, dear lady. It is simply the truth."

She couldn't look away. She couldn't speak. Her head was empty, swirling, intoxicated.

But she got ahold of herself. This was a man she had just met! Whether it be some distant relation of hers, or a complete stranger, she knew she was far above cavorting with every man she could find. So she forced herself to examine the plants again. Ian's hand fell from her cheek.

"What time will you go home?" His voice seemed a little distant now, as if even he felt that contact must be kept at a minimum, that it was too dangerous if they went on like they did a second ago.

"I don't know." Amy's voice was steady. "I'd like to stay away for as long as I can. Or until I can be sure that my suitor----that is, Lord Isley---has left. And hopefully, he or my parents wouldn't be so mad."

"Then I had better get you back to that millinery shop. Your carriage awaits you there, am I right?" As he spoke he began to walk back the way they'd come, and Amy followed him. She could only nod at his words. The sweetness of the precious minutes ago had vaporized in the air, and there was nothing but calculated actions and cautious words.

As they left the park, they passed by a bubbling fountain. Statues of soaring angels were the focal point from which the water spouted. Ian tossed a gold coin into the fountain, and Amy could hear the clink as it hit the other coins that had been thrown in by other park visitors.

She wanted to inquire as to his wish, but she felt that it would be too personal. So she kept quiet the whole time they walked to the shop.

They stopped in front of the blue-and-gold carriage that had brought Amy here. She unwrapped her arm from his and began to call for her driver, when Ian suddenly grasped her hand and brought it to his lips. The gentle kiss lingered, and then he straightened, opening the door to the carriage for her. She climbed in, speechless.

"_Adieu, mon amour."_

Amy pondered over the greeting like the water washing over a pebble in gentle waves. And then she understood what it meant.

Goodbye, my love.

But it would not be the final farewell.

******

_**Not my best chapter, but…anyway…**_

_**I know I've abolished this a few chapters back, but…I'd like to at least receive 5 reviews to be assured that all this effort isn't wasted.**_

_**And also. Regarding the 39 Clues Fanfiction Awards. When you nominate something for the categories, please include story title and author. For the categories "Best Use Of New Characters" and "Most Evil Villain", please mention the New Character and Villain respectively. **_

_**I will post up a list of nominees when I'm sure that all of you have given their nominations. Please visit "The 39 Clues Fanfiction Awards" for submission of any additional nominees, or xxxkgcxxx's forum under the topic "Wait." **_


	9. Chapter 9

Ian looked at the carriage one last time as it rolled away from view. Then, his thoughts in turmoil, he returned to his post outside the millinery shop, staring at the faces and people who paraded past without really seeing them.

He didn't deserve to be with her, that beautiful angel. Blast it, he wasn't even _fit _to strut around the city and mingle amongst the upper-class. He was a rogue, deep inside. A sham hidden within these expensive clothes. Rich, handsome, titled---a title his family had claimed for their own after they had broken those who once possessed it. Truth be told, theirs was a nameless clan who happened to come by at the right time.

Only one other person knew of this truth.

Ian sighed. That person had been easily subdued and quickly dealt with. He was harmless. But the matter still weighed down heavily on Ian's conscience, battering it like a ram would.

Wind chimes tinkled as the door was pushed forward by a vision in virginal white. Ian knew better. This was no innocent maiden but his extremely vain sister, arms laden with purchases while a teetering stack of boxes wobbled a little behind her. "Careful!" she barked.

The boy, who could not be more than 15 years old, cowered. "Y-Yes, my lady." Meekly, he deposited the stack in the carriage, bowed low and left, blushing furiously as he went.

"Tsk tsk," Ian tutted. "What did you do to the poor boy, Natalie?"

Natalie's answering stare was the blankest that he had ever seen. "What do you mean, brother dear?"

"My dear sister, it is quite obvious that the unfortunate fellow seems to have fallen for you."

"I am sure you are mistaken," Natalie said dismissively.

"Mistaken? Why, he was blushing like mad!"

"Wonderful delusions, Ian, but he was merely ashamed at nearly dropping that stack," Natalie stated flatly. She gathered up her voluminous skirts and climbed in.

Ian raised an eyebrow at this, but he got in after her.

"Move it, man, and bring us to the Duvals' estate," Natalie snappily commanded the driver.

"Pray tell, my dear sister, why exactly are we headed to the hags' godforsaken place?" Ian asked, appalled at the thought of spending the rest of his day with old dignitaries who fawned over him and his sister.

"Ian," Natalie chided with a disapproving frown. "Be polite."

"You sound just like mother," Ian said, rolling his eyes. "Besides, you didn't answer my question."

"Some kind of boorish garden party that mother and father were invited to," Natalie explained.

"How come we're tagging along?"

"We're the offspring that they'll show off."

"What are we, goods for sale?"

"Well, the Duvals have a daughter..."

Ian paled at the very thought of a betrothal and arranged marriage.

Natalie instantly regretted mentioning this to her brother. "Don't worry. I'm sure they won't attempt anything so ghastly as that."

Ian was not so sure. He was far too familiar with his parents' devious scheming.

He could only hope that they wouldn't go too far.

******

As she neared their family's estate, Amy was silently praying for a kind flash of lightning to strike her down so that she wouldn't have to meet inevitable disappointment. But the day was clear, fine, with no hint of an approaching thunderstorm whatsoever. So she settled for the next best option: hope that she would suddenly be invisible. Alas, that in itself was impossible, and Amy resigned herself to her fate as the carriage came to a stop in front of the palatial mansion.

When she entered uncertainly, she was not at all prepared at the sight of her father's worried face, or Dan's display of glee, or her mother throwing her arms around her.

"Where did you go off to?" her mother demanded as soon as she released her.

"I, um...the city park," Amy answered faintly. She waited for a reprimand. When none seemed to be forthcoming, she spoke. "Aren't you mad?"

"Mad?" her mother repeated. "Why would we be mad? Well, except for you leaving without telling us. But why would we be mad?"

Amy blinked. "Um...because I...well..." She felt her cheeks go hot. "I slipped some sleep syrup in Jonah's drink and escaped," she mumbled.

Her mother's confused expression smoothed out. "Amy, that was fine. Although you should have told us, so we could have made an excuse or something. But Jonah was still groggy when he left with his father. I expect he won't make much of a protest. However..."

Amy had to ask. "However...?" she prompted.

Her mother looked weary. "You have another visitor, dear."

The trepidation that Amy felt was two-fold. "You do not mean…"

Her mother and father nodded. Dan merely began toying with the cushion's tassels. "Yes. A suitor who has come for your hand. And we could not turn him away."

Dante swept in with a flourish befitting his status as a butler. "Madam, the Lord is come."

Amy turned to the door and her eyes landed on the young man.

******

_**I really, really apologize, but there's only one excuse I can make: I was, and still am, busy.**_

_**Anyway. The first poll is now up for the category, Best Use of Original Characters. You have until January 26, 2010. I know that not everyone reads this, so for those who do, please spread the word:) Thanks.**_


	10. Chapter 10

Amy found herself walking in the garden, naming the plants that burst forth from the rich soil, adorning the vast hectares of land with their vibrantly-hued petals and natural beauty. Beside her was a tall, broad-shouldered man, not terribly handsome but possessed of a pleasant face. He was listening intently as she rambled on, his hands fiddling with a hat, looking quite uncomfortable in his stiff, starched shirt, heavy black coat, and itchy gray pants.

They came to the farthest corner of the garden, marked with a marble pavilion where a wrought-iron bench was set. Roses wrapped themselves around the pillars and Amy took care not to touch them, aware of the thorns that clearly presented pain.

"Why don't we sit there, my dear sir?" she offered, feet aching, face reddened by the heat of the sun.

Hamilton Holt nodded, joining the young woman when she settled down on the bench. The curlicues of the bench's design dug into his back, but he ignored the sensation and threw down his hat.

"This is all bloody irregular," he muttered, unbuttoning his coat and flinging it over the armrest.

"Come now, Hamilton," Amy chided, lips curving into a smile. "You know full well how…determined your father can be."

"And foolish," he added darkly, stretching out his long legs in front of him.

"That's no way to speak of someone who brought you up," Amy reminded him gently.

"I'll speak about him any way I want," Hamilton said rather petulantly.

Amy placed a hand on his. "Don't get carried away by that temper of yours," she warned him.

"I'm not mad! I'm just…"

"Embarrassed?" Amy suggested.

"I…well…yes, I suppose so," Hamilton conceded. "Imagine being sent all the way here because your own _father _told you so. And acting like he was dying, to boot. If he wanted me to come here, he could have just said so, instead of writhing on the ground like an epileptic with my mother playing along with his antics."

"He must have been desperate," Amy remarked, amused.

"It is not funny!" Hamilton spluttered indignantly. "This is the first time in life that I've been stuffed into a silly suit in highly unpredictable weather for so shallow a purpose!" Troubled, he fell silent and stared at the floor.

"Unpredictable? It's a fine day, Hamilton, not a storm cloud in sight and not unbearably hot, either."

"Why does it feel as if you're joking around, on the inside?" Hamilton said, looking at her.

Amy repressed a grin. "Because, in all honesty, I am."

Hamilton sighed and stood up, pacing all over the pavilion. Amy watched him, circling around and around, muttering to himself about the injustices of this world.

Presently, Amy decided that this kind of talk could not go on any further. "Why did you come here?"

Hamilton stopped short, his muttering ceased. He glanced over at the girl who spoke, his best friend since that incident five years ago, and one who knew him better than he knew himself. Amy looked back unblinkingly. His gaze transferred on a particularly fat red rose on the pillar to his right and trained his eyes on it.

"You have probably suspected. After all, when you came, I believe your parents might have told you."

"Yes, they did." She was silent for a few seconds and he continued to examine the flower. "But do you really want to, Hamilton? Is this what you wish for?"

Hamilton pursed his lips and frowned, thinking. Then he exhaled. "To be honest…I don't know. Like I've said, it was on my father's command that I come here and ask for your hand."

"And you, Hamilton?" Amy asked quietly. "Did some part of you oblige because you felt that way too, or only because of the duty that was yours as your father's son?"

"I don't know!" Hamilton exclaimed, exasperated, and he punched the pillar. Thorns pricked into his flesh and it hurt, but not as much as that time where a knife had slashed across his palm. He watched rivulets of blood streak his knuckles then fall, drop by drop, onto the ground.

There was a rustle of skirts as Amy, alarmed, rushed over to him. She pulled the hand of a suddenly limp Hamilton and examined it. No thorns were stuck on it, which seemed fine, but it was still bleeding and proceeded to stain her dress.

"I'm sorry," Hamilton murmured, watching the blood strike against the sky blue of her clothes.

"Sorry? You're the one who's hurt!" She looked up at him, a reprimand on her tongue, but his eyes struck her dumb. Then she recovered her composure and brought her gaze down to his hand again. "Whatever were you thinking?"

"Many things. Things that have bothered me with sleepless nights and aimless days," Hamilton answered her honestly.

Amy did not respond. She spotted a crystal bowl of water, along with a jug and glasses, which she was certain that the maids had placed upon seeing them in the gardens. Their servants were always observant and when they saw anyone in the gardens, they made it a point to furnish the pavilion with drinks in case their masters took time to rest there.

She tugged him along to the little table and doused his hand with water. When she was satisfied that it was sufficiently clean, she looked around for anything to use as a bandage. Then she tore out the sleeve of her dress, ignoring Hamilton's protests, and wrapped it around his knuckles, securing it tightly with a knot.

"Don't mind my dress, it's disposable," Amy dismissed him.

"You help me out so much," Hamilton said.

Amy studied his face. "And don't you think the same is true for you?"

Hamilton withdrew his hand from her grasp.

"I think it is time to take my leave," he said, not wishing to refute or to agree with her claim. He picked up his coat and the discarded hat.

"You haven't answered my question yet."

"I have answered your questions as best as I can, Mademoiselle. Is there anything that leaves you wanting?"

"Don't be sassy." Amy moved to his side. "My question. From before you took it into your head to punch that poor pillar."

"Oh, so the pillar warrants more sympathy than I, is that it?" Hamilton joked humorlessly. "Very well. You require a clearer, concise response? I'll give it to you."

Amy waited.

Then Hamilton bent down and kissed her swiftly on the forehead, and Amy stiffened in shock. By the time she had regained full control of her senses, Hamilton was well on his way through the paths, far ahead of her, his gaze straight and true.

The wind blew and Amy was reminded of her bare left arm. She debated for a full minute then ripped off the one on her right.

She threw it to the wind, gathered up her skirts, and left the pavilion.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Dance With Me, Ma Cherie**_

"Must I do this, Grandmére?"

"But of course, my dear Amy!" Grace seemed taken aback at the implication that it wasn't necessary. She felt that her granddaughter, though now eighteen years, was not quite prepared for the critical and scrutinizing eyes of London. So she had set about it by travelling through all those miles separating their estates, followed by carriages containing an array of materials that had flooded Amy's bedroom. She arrived not long after Hamilton Holt's visit, her many servants bustling in and out of the Cahills' manor.

"This...corset is –"

"—simply wonderful and fitting for such a beautiful young lady as you are!"

"Quite right, Ivan," Grace said. The dressmaker she had brought seemed to be in the throes of happiness at the first syllable of her praise. Amy did not feel the same way.

"It hurts," she whispered to one of the maids who were tightening the strings.

"Will you repeat what you have said, Amy? Ladies must speak softly, but not as softly as you do. When you speak, you speak eloquently but with caution, taking care to voice even the most vulgar of opinions with poise and delicacy." Grace pointed her elaborate painted fan at her granddaughter. "However, vulgar opinions are most unbecoming."

"Yes, Grandmére," Amy said. She winced as another string was pulled, and another strand of her hair was tightly curled and arranged in a towering hairdo. It seemed like the pins were digging into her scalp, making her head scream with a thousand protestations, none of which were spoken aloud.

"Now what was it you were saying?"

"I was remarking that the dress is…extravagant," Amy said. The dress in question was a puffy pink ball gown, adorned with ribbons and glitter; and, she imagined, it had many layers.

"This is only for practice, my Lady," Ivan said, picking up the dress and brandishing it at the Lady's face with a flourish. Amy caught a glimpse of at least five layers stiff with starch. She swallowed back a wail.

"For practice?" She could only wonder at what the real thing was. Would it be twice as enormous, twice as suffocating, twice as repulsive? Pink was not her color, and never would be. Ball gowns she hated with every fiber of her being. The shoes, spiky and clunky and all over the place, were things she would rather avoid. And the hair – the hair made bouffant; the hair curled and practically glued to her head; the hair that smarted at the slightest touch – it made it her want to flee.

"Yes, my Lady," Ivan said. He gave the dress to one of the maids attending to Amy. "Now take care to not ruin the hairdo. Put it in place properly – yes, do it slowly. No, that ribbon isn't quite tied the right way. Do it like _this._" He proceeded to loop the ribbons with an air of excessiveness. When it was done, Amy could feel it flapping along with her rustling skirts whenever she moved.

"Call in Matthews," Grace said, clapping her hands. The fan fell, forgotten, to the floor. A servant picked it up and placed it on a side table; Grace did not seem to notice. There was a knock, and Dante opened the doors. Matthews turned out to be a young man in the same black suit that most male servants wore, his hands covered in white gloves. His arms cradled a stack of books. Amy brightened somewhat.

"Am I to read them?" she asked, thinking that it must either be a reward or an exercise in speech. Perhaps she would be asked to sit and read out the words. There was nothing she would have liked better. At least it would be an exercise that would serve her own desires – getting lost in the book – and at the same time, she would be fulfilling the role that Grace wanted her to play. A lady benefactor, giving to society's homeless and unfortunate, educating children by reading to them. It would take her mind off the scratchy dress, the pinching shoes, the painful hair, and the heavily made-up face.

"_Non, Mademoiselle._" Matthews lowered the books onto the table. "These shall be placed on your head. We will be learning the proper carriage today. The books must not fall off; if they do, it is ten minutes added to your lesson, and another book on your head."

Every last bit of romantic notions left straggling behind in Amy's mind escaped. She had not known, until this moment, that books would be distasteful to her. The mere idea of carrying them on her head, walking while they tottered somewhere on top of her hairdo, and the very minutes of discomfort ticking by – they made it all the more impossible for her to restrain her instinct to run.

"Ready, _Mademoiselle?_" Matthews had a book in his hands, what looked to be a heavy volume bound in red leather and gold engravings. She did not have time to decode the fancy script that swirled across its cover before the book was on her head. She felt an odd sensation in the base of her spine. Was it fear?

She closed her eyes and, despite her misgivings, nodded.

"Are you tired, Amy?"

Amy's smile was weak. The ball room was deserted; there was little that remained of her session. Grace had dismissed the servants a few minutes ago, and only Dante stayed on the other side of the doors. She kicked off her shoes. They glanced off the tiles, landing with a sharp _thump_ somewhere on the floor. She could not remove the dress, not in front of Grace, but she contented herself with removing the earrings brushing against her neck, and the pins that bound her hair. Her tresses were twisted, flowing down her shoulder in a mass of disorganization, sighing with relief when they were released. _She _sighed with relief, herself.

"I apologize, my dear, but if there must be a reason for my visit, it has to be this." Grace smiled at her, and the harshness that colored her words a while before was gone. She sat down on a chair. "Many of the _ton _have frowned and whispered that I did not guide you as I should have. In other circumstances, I might have ignored them. But there are other pressing matters, and frankly speaking, I must groom you for their henpecking ways and frivolous gossip. It is also, as you can see, a plausible ruse for the real reason I am here."

In an instant, Amy felt less uncomfortable and more intrigued. "What is it that you wish to speak of, Grandmére?" She combed her fingers through her reddish-brown locks, working her way through the tangles that had sprouted sometime during the fiftieth and ninetieth pin she had removed. Grace took out a brush from her purse and helped her with it.

"Not now, Amy, not now. We will approach it at a better time. Perhaps when I think you will not faint at a crowded dinner, or trip over a gentleman's shoes while you are dancing, or stutter when you speak to a noteworthy personage. The way it is now, you cannot even fight for yourself against your crotchety grandmother's demands. Though I did admire your quiet strength as you bore it as best you could."

When her hair was finally rid of the tangles and looked almost straight as it originally was, Amy turned to face her grandmother. She could feel the secret that floated, intangible, in the air. Grace replaced her brush in her purse and stood.

"So we shall continue like this for some time?"

"_Oui._ Now put your shoes back on." The harshness crept back into Grace's tone, but this time Amy understood, and it improved things somewhat.

"As you wish, Grandmére," Amy said. The shoes still pinched, and the dress was still scratchy, but at least her hair was unbound and free.

"Straighten your back! Move slowly! Speak softly but don't stutter – don't stutter!"

And it was this way that Grace spoke as they walked to the dining room.

* * *

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_**A Rose's Thorns will undergo drastic edits and plot doctoring. The World Ends With You will be revived at an undisclosed date (depending on Joelle8 and music4evah). **_

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